


Still Iron Grows Anew

by savedoug



Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Betrayal, F/F, F/M, Family, Fluff, M/M, Murder, Other, Romance, Spoilers, cxc, telltale games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedoug/pseuds/savedoug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of one-shots based around TellTale's Game of Thrones. Slight AU's at some points, but mainly just what I wished for written down as a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Off Was Her Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was going to die, he might as well make sure she was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol this is sad whoops

She was far from innocent, she had discovered. Murdering a Lannister guard for the safety of her friend. If only she hadn’t developed feelings for this friend, things might have turned out differently. The cell she was confined in was nothing short of a black room with nothing to keep her sane but a small window in which she could see the beautiful scenery King’s Landing had to offer. She wished the people here could be as beautiful as it, but alas, no truth to be discovered in her thoughts.

“You got ten minutes in there, boy. Kiss ‘er quick and leave.” A guard approached her door with somebody in his grip, the loud sound of her cell door unlocking took over her room. The door had swung open, and the boy walked in. The door was shut. The guard walked away to claim his next criminal.

“Lady Mira,” The boy shakily spoke, standing as still as he could while staring at the girl in front of him. The Forrester girl turned from the window and her eyes were pried wide open when she saw who it was that entered, the boy who she so mistakingly developed strange feelings for, “T-Tom..?” He nodded his head, a state of sorrow painted on his face.

“I was told I wouldn’t be allowed visitors, I’m to be executed soon.” Her quiet voice stirred as she sat on the wooden bench which stuck out of the wall like a sore thumb. The coal boy only took another step and frowned, “Cercei let me in, she’s angry at this Morgryn man.”

_If only you knew, Tom, what Morgryn has done to me._

“Thank you for coming, Tom. I didn’t think that one of the last people I speak to would be you. I’m sorry that I have to go, soon,” Mira looked to her dirtied dress, eyes gleaming over with salty tears, “and I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you more.” The last part was only a few octaves higher than a pin dropping, and she felt dreadful inside. _Imagine if Mother saw me now._

“Lady Mira, don’t apologise for anything, please.” Tom walked over to her and sat down beside the girl, knees and hands only a few inches apart, “I was sent to protect you and now you’re going to die because of me.” His body shuddered slightly, before he slouched beside Mira and leaned his head against the wall behind them, “Morgryn asked me to marry him,” She admitted.

“He said I’d forsake everything, but I’ll be breathing. And I’d be his slave,” Mira’s chin quivered while she spoke, “But that’s not why I refused.” Her eyes shut for a brief moment, before she reopened them and looked Tom right in the eyes, while her own stung with the salt of her tears, “I refused because you would have died if I hadn’t.”

And that was enough to reduce the poor coal boy to tears.

“He said you’d replace me on the block, and he didn’t even blink.” _Two-faced shit._ Mira’s stomach burned with undeniable anger for Rickard Morgryn. With no more words shared, the two teens sat on the wooden bench and cried with each other, silently. The only thing they did do, is slowly intertwine their hands together, knowing that this moment would be their last together, and whatever confessions they had should be let out now.

“Lady M-Mira, I’m sorry for this,” Tom stuttered, picking up his head from where it was resting against and turning it in the direction of the girl, eyes red but face serious. And without thinking, he pushed forward and placed his lips delicately on Mira’s, scared to do anything else. She didn’t react terribly, either. She just let it happen, knowing that the only thing that this changed is how much harder their goodbye was going to be.

When they parted, Mira reopened her eyes and shakily breathed in. Another tear threatened to fall down her face, but she dared not let it slip. She needed to look unfazed, especially in front of Rickard. Tom was visibly aching, hunched over and unmoving, “I think my time is up.” Mira whispered to him, shifting closer to him and placing her free hand on his knee. He glanced up to her, nodded his head, and wrapped his skinny arms around her.

“Thank you for everything, L-Lady Mira.” He muffled into her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing that life could be so different right now. Mira pecked at his neck and composed herself, standing up and brushing herself off, “Goodbye, Tom.” Was all she said.

“Not a goodbye, my Lady. See you soon.” With all of this depressive aura, the coal boy managed a weak smile, and the ghost of one appeared on Mira’s face, too. As if on cue, the guard returned and pulled Mira harshly out of the door, shouting for Tom to leave. They looked at each other’s faces for the last time, before Mira was walking to her death.

Tom was in the crowd of people spectating, her other friends were, too. Sera, Tarwick, _Morgryn._  
But Mira held her head high before it would be taken away from her. Not even retaliating when Rickard spoke for her crimes.

“Iron from Ice,” Were her last words, and the words which echoed off of the walls around her. She kneeled down and placed her neck in the dimple of the block, and stared nonchalantly at the scenery around her, before catching Tom’s eyes and slightly nodding to the whimpering boy.

Closed were her eyes, and off was her head.


	2. He Let Me Ride One Of His Pigs Once.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never ceased to amaze. So gentle, yet brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> king gared is here to make all things well.

 

The sun seemed to dance all over him, highlighting his summer freckles, accenting his genuine smile.

Not even the sound of Talia’s voice, or the strum of Ethan’s lute could compare, the boy was surely something to behold.

“How old are you now, then?” He asked, crouching down the the young lad’s level. Hands were pressed onto his shoulders as the boy tried so hardly to climb onto the pig, “Six,” he grunted, huffing loudly as he again slid off the pig for the eleventh time. Gared smiled an encouragement to the boy while extending a hand, one which the boy took and thanked him quietly.

“Here, let me help you,” Gared insisted, placing two firm yet over-worked hands underneath the boy’s armpits before hoisting him up onto the pig, calmly muttering a ‘there you go’ once Ryon was securely riding the farm animal. The boy clapped his hands together and giggled, thanking Gared yet again.

“A noble steed,” The Tuttle boy joked, joining in the rather contagious laughter, “wait ’til Rodrik sees you, I’m sure he’d be jealous.”

Ryan laughed some more, enjoying the older boy’s company rather much, just like everyone else who’s had the pleasure of meeting the down-to-earth boy.

“I’ll be the Lord of Ironrath before he will,” Ryon smiled, clutching onto the pig’s belly for support.

“Of course, Lord Ryon the Pig. I am at your service as your squire, M’Lord,” Tuttle stood and bowed, before walking a few metres away from the boy and patting his knees, “Try and walk towards me, then, if you’re such a brave Lord,”

“I do not take orders from you, pigman!” He waggled his tongue and tried desperately to turn the farm animal to turn around, whispering encouragements to it. Once it had, eventually, turned around, it wandered out of the farm gates and started a slow pace towards Ironrath. Gared’s face was wiped of joy and contorted into panic.

He thought of the many ways in which he would be punished for letting the boy ride the thing, none of them good. In an instant he was calling the boy’s name and chasing after him, laughing awkwardly as he pinpointed the small lad wobbling around on the swine.

“Look at me, on my way to win King’s Landing,” Ryon sang, clapping his hands to some uneven beat. The older boy soon caught up to him, lightly clapping one hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe we shouldn’t tell your brother about this,”


	3. He Didn't Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's alone and he feels dead inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i *clap* don't care if *clap* it's not *clap* realistic *clap clap*
> 
> also gared ily

Dead. She’s dead, her brother’s dead, they’re all dead.

 

Well, all except Gared, of course.

 

It stared off with Finn. Bloody Finn and the wights. Gared tried to save him, he truly did, but he was a dead man the moment the spear pierced his flesh.

 

Cotter wasn’t too different. Died of infection a few days later, veins popped out all around his body in disgusting pigmentation.

 

Sylvi, the idiot, refused to burn him, and that came back to bite her — literally. Cotter soon rose as a wight himself, and mauled his sister. Right in front of Gared’s eyes. Flesh tearing so easily away from bone, like peeling off wrapping paper.

 

He still remembers what the inside of a body looks like.

 

Gared ached. He ached for his friends, for his family. All this time, he had been on the precipice of utmost depression, then along came death to poke him off of it, to send him spiralling into the pit of blackness.

 

It was all quite funny, really. He should have been expecting this from day one. From the moment he saw his little sister’s dead body sprawled on the ground, he should have known.

 

He just didn’t think that it would come to this. Everyone he held contact with just wiped away from existence.

 

 _‘So much for protecting the North Grove, whatever it is,’_ He thought to himself, eyes burning holes into the bed of snow surrounding his feet as hands slumped to his sides, he was almost falling off of the log he sat on.

 

He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to lie down and sleep. So he found a tree, a Weirwood one just beside a cave blocked by an iced lake, and he slept against it. He never woke up. He didn’t want to, because he didn’t care.

 

He didn’t care that this ‘North Grove’ was only metres away from where he willingly died. He didn’t care that his body would freeze in time and stay there forever. He didn’t care that in a month or two from then, his family from back home would escape to the North Grove and find his broken body.

 

He didn’t care, until he opened his eyes to see a blonde-haired man hovering over him with worried eyes. He didn’t care until his family found him again.


	4. Father Figures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many times had they heard him call them 'father' instead of 'uncle' or 'ser'?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> baby cub asher

Malcolm never really meant to be a father figure to the secondborn, but when he saw the way Gregor treated him, he couldn't just do _nothing_. He was often told he would never be a father, yet something about the poor lad made him care deeply for him.

His paternal love wasn't unreturned, but he just had to look a little further to notice the gratitude Asher held for him.

And he really appreciated it. 

He appreciated it when Asher was a child and he still appreciated it when he watched his nephew now.

He had forgotten the number of times Elissa had thanked him for his time and patience, forgotten the number of times Asher had mispronounced 'Uncle Malcolm' as 'father'. To be fair, Malcolm has called him son on more than one occasion.

Still, it's not all as blissful as the summer sun. Asher had his dark days where he would go without food or water, or where he was angry at the slightest of things. Sometimes he wouldn't even speak, not even to Malcolm. It was times such as these where it got so desperate that Malcolm wondered if Asher would ever recover from whatever was bothering him. He always did.

And Malcolm was probably the only person proud of the boy. He was so proud of the man he became in his departure from Westeros.

Well, there was Royland, too.

Ser Royland Degore, the only other man who cared about Asher enough to do something about it. He was awfully pleased with himself to have taught perhaps the best warrior in Slavers Bay. And he was awfully pleased with himself to have given a rats arse about the boy. The Gods knew he needed it. They both did.

The blonde left a positive effect on the usually stout, angry man, which was quite possibly a good thing. Considering he had no other family to turn to.

Degore remembered when he was but a child wanting to wield a sword desperately, right up to just before his exile when he would pick up a blade and smack it at him to release his anger.

But by the old Gods and the new, that boy could swing.

Asher never thought of Gregor as his father, and Gregor didn't even acknowledge Asher's presence, usually. He was always too busy with Rodrik or too tired, or too stern to do well, anything for his second born.

Asher felt forgotten. Neglected.

And it was nice for him to have somebody he could come to confide in. Even if it was only for a little while.

It was nice for poor Asher, who had no father, to have father figures at all.

And whenever they recognised him, it made him feel a little warmer inside.


End file.
